You finish every meal. Still hungry.
Snacks become routine, even after full dinners.
Your jeans loosen week by week.
The weight drops slowly, then faster.
But nothing else changes—not movement, not diet.
It doesn’t feel like success.
It feels confusing.
You feel too warm when no one else does
You’re sweating indoors.
The room feels heavy, though the window’s open.
Others wear jackets.
You wear short sleeves.
Fans spin constantly around you.
Still, your skin stays damp.
It’s not the weather.
It’s something inside, turning up the heat.
Your hands shake even when you’re still
You hold a pen. It wobbles.
Not a full tremor—just enough to notice.
You try ignoring it.
But others see.
They ask if you’re nervous.
You say no, though your hands say yes.
Your heart beats louder than your thoughts
You sit down. It thumps through your chest.
No stairs, no coffee.
Just a racing drum in your ribs.
Sometimes it skips.
Sometimes it speeds.
You press your palm to your chest.
Nothing changes.
You sleep long hours but never wake rested
You lie down early.
Wake up tired.
Dreams feel fast and shallow.
Your eyes burn at noon.
Even naps don’t help.
Fatigue follows you, like a shadow.
Always there, never softening.
You speak quickly and only notice afterward
Words leave your mouth too fast.
Sentences rush.
You feel breathless mid-conversation.
People squint when you talk.
You try to slow down.
But the pace returns.
It’s like your thoughts are on fast-forward.
Your emotions rise quickly and leave you confused
You cry unexpectedly.
Yell over small things.
Then silence.
You apologize often, without knowing why.
Reactions feel bigger than they should.
And smaller things feel unbearable.
You forget simple things but remember the frustration
Keys vanish.
Appointments slip.
You reread texts, again and again.
You check the oven twice.
Still, you’re unsure.
The mistakes are small but constant.
It doesn’t feel like you.
You feel weaker, even when you haven’t done much
Holding bags is harder.
Arms ache without reason.
You rest more, stretch more.
Still, muscles tire.
You avoid stairs.
Not from pain, but from exhaustion.
Your period changes, even if everything else stays the same
It comes early.
Then late.
Then heavy.
Then light.
You mark the calendar, hoping for a pattern.
It doesn’t come.
Your body makes new rules.
Your skin thins in places you didn’t expect
It bruises easier.
Tears faster.
Even pillows leave marks.
You notice tiny cuts from nothing.
Creams don’t help.
Your skin becomes something unfamiliar.
Your eyes feel dry, but also wide open
Blinking doesn’t help.
You feel exposed to air.
Even indoors.
The sting stays.
Eye drops soothe, but only for a moment.
You blink again.
Still dry.
Your hair starts falling, not drastically but enough
It’s in your brush.
On the pillow.
Around the drain.
No bald spots.
Just less volume.
You tie your hair tighter, pretending not to notice.
But you do.
Your nails feel weaker, breaking without effort
They split easily.
Peel from the edges.
Nail polish chips sooner.
You file them down more often.
There’s no pain.
Just fragility.
You move through the day with speed, but no control
You clean faster.
Talk faster.
Walk faster.
But you forget why you started.
You rush through hours.
Then crash without warning.
You feel like you’re watching yourself from outside
You notice how different you’ve become.
It doesn’t feel natural.
It doesn’t feel chosen.
You follow the rhythm, though it’s not yours.
Your body leads.
You trail behind.
You visit doctors, but the symptoms don’t connect
They treat the fatigue.
Or the weight loss.
Or the racing heart.
Never together.
You leave confused.
No closer to an answer.
You hear the word ‘hyperthyroidism’ and something clicks
You read a list.
Almost every line fits.
Not perfectly.
But too close to ignore.
You sit quietly.
Finally, something that sounds like what you’ve been living.
You want to feel normal, but forgot what that means
You try to remember yourself before the changes.
Before the noise.
Before the speed.
You miss stillness.
You miss silence inside your skin.